


Small Town Chinese Food

by AuntyA



Category: Bleach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntyA/pseuds/AuntyA
Kudos: 3





	Small Town Chinese Food

Gin was sitting in the airport lounge, legs stretched out, feet on his carryon. He was fucking bored. Regional fucking airlines. Tiny airports. Small town fuckery.

He inspected his shoe. He looked at his watch. He checked his phone for the nine hundredth time. He wedged the earphones farther into his ears. He looked for patterns in the dull whorls of the gate carpeting.

He shifted his weight in his seat. He stared out the lounge windows at the pale blue almost white sky.

“Your hair matches that sky, but you know that.”

Gin flinched, startling at the low voice in his ear. He quickly pulled the earbud out and turned his head to see his boss standing over him in the row of chairs behind.

Aizen stood behind him, a shadowed silhouette, featureless against the bright winter sun coming through the wall of windows. Gin held his hand up to his forehead to block the light for his good eye.

“Aizen-ssama don’t sneak up on me like that.” He hated when his stutter came out when he talked to his boss, because –

Aizen immediately smirked. Gin could certainly see that much of his face. “Gin – that cute stutter is back again.” Aizen always pointed it out. Gin found it embarrassing.

Gin ducked his head, staring at his shoes again.

Aizen leaned in a bit closer, “I didn’t think the conference went terribly well. You?”

Gin felt Aizen’s breath on his ear. He sank farther down in the chair pulling in his arms as if to shrink into nothing.

“Uh. Well. You know. Ssmall townss.” He weakly offered as his contribution.

Gin thought about the conference in the shitty dark Viking themed hotel. Horrid food. Mulelish tightlipped clients grabbing at useless swag. Nasty coffee. Bad draft beer.

Aizen moved around to sit behind him. Gin thought briefly of those Victorian lovers’ chairs where a couple could sit next to each other but be facing in opposite directions.

Aizen draped his hand across the back of the chairs and casually landed it on Gin’s shoulder. Gin felt the warmth of his large hand through his suit jacket.

“This way you don’t have to crane your neck to see me in this light with your bad eye.” Aizen patted his sleeve. “But I’m going to have to have the leads listing by tomorrow.”

Gin exhaled slowly staring ahead a little fixedly.

“Gin? You seem so tense. I know you hate these small town things but we have to make money somehow.”

“I don’t know how effective thesse are for uss. Maybe we should rethink the sschedule for next year.” Gin was watching a small luggage cart drive slowly across the tarmac.

“I so enjoy my time with you Gin though.” Said the voice in his ear.

Gin refused to turn his head, instead studying the progress of the cart as it neared the aircraft and began a wide circle to back up to the cargo door.

“Gin?” He felt Aizen’s fingertips absently stroke across the nape of his neck. He resisted the urge to wriggle under the light pressure.

He re-crossed his arms and shifted in the chair again. The waiting room was packed and people walked by, got up and sat down. Announcements for cancelled planes and looking for passengers blabbled overhead.

They sat that way for a while silently with Aizen lightly stroking the back of his neck and him staring out the window.

With a sinking feeling, Gin had to admit to himself he was now completely focused on his dick. He had to fight the urge to just grab his crotch through his pants and rub both hands wantonly against the fabric.

Music was still playing in his forgotten earbud. The shuffled soundtrack to his current sexual humiliation was a mixture of Springsteen and anime themes.

So Gin was excited and hard as a rock but this was how it would start with Aizen edging him right up to the point of no return and then leaving him hanging.

Aizen would then head briskly off to Business Class when his zone was called without looking back, leaving Gin and his aching balls to sit uncomfortably in Economy for the entire flight.

Gin hated the conferences. But here was the thing Gin didn't entirely understand. There had been a conference.

There was a table in a hotel ballroom that he had sat at making conversation about satellite imagery products for three days. He had handed out rafts of business cards and glossy trifold pamphlets about geo-mapping services.

But they didn't have a company. He didn't sell anything to anyone. He didn’t have anything to sell.

On arrival in whatever shit town, Aizen would disappear leaving Gin in a good suit at a vendor table. 

Gin would spend his days talking to miners with hands like granite, phalanxes of engineers in their uniform of plaid shirts and chinos, harried nebbish project managers and thick necked Bulgarian oil men weighted down with tacky gold jewelry and held in by tight suits. 

But the thing was that their company, Aizen’s company, 'Division Five Scanning Geomatics', didn't exist.

Gin wasn't entirely sure if Aizen was an enforcer, an investor or a cleaner, but the suitcases of money would be there in the room when Gin finally was released from working the vendor expo and could make his way gingerly in his handmade shoes across the frozen parking lot to their hotel.

He would return to the room and find luggage that wasn’t theirs already there. A bellhop cart stacked with mismatched luggage. Heavy luggage. Larger than carry-on size. It really was quite something.

Gin would carefully hang up his suit coat and shirt in the closet, get the electric bill counter out of his own luggage and set to work in his undershirt with a giant bag of red rubber bands on his left side.

It took hours to count it all.

Aizen would drop by at some point to bring dinner and drinks. Gin would continue working. Aizen would stretch out on the second bed in his stocking feet and watch, silently sipping his drink, as Gin put the counted bills back into the suitcases in tidy rubberbanded stacks of 100,000$. Each stack a just little over 4 inches high.

Gin could probably have easily divided a stack of bills into hundred grand bundles in his sleep but the bill counter was required as exact confirmation.

Working at the shitty hotel room desk, the bill counter plugged into the desk lamp socket, and the TV moved off to one side, Gin counted money and ate Chinese food straight from the styrofoam container all night.

Deep fried fossilized beef ribs. Tofu with soggy vegetables in a tepid brown sauce. Grey flaccid beef with sad broccoli. Chopsticks that cost fifty cents when delivered. Of course the plastic cutlery was free.

Gin also had a drink when he did this task. Bourbon. Gin hated jokes about his name so bourbon it was. Neat. Aizen always took ice.

He had initially worried about the constant sound of the bill counter whirring away in the room. He had thought the sound might cause a problem for them until he realized every single room in the building had a TV on, just to have noise to fill the lonely space of being in a hotel.

When Gin took a break from stacking the money in the bill counter, he turned, looking over at Aizen. The light from the desk didn't quite reach the bed. The shadows essentially reducing Aizen to a dark silhouette against the white bedding.

Gin sipped his drink and rubbed the fingers of the other hand together. Money was so dirty.

He put down his drink and got up to wash his hands. As he walked past the bed he realized that Aizen’s eyes had closed behind his glasses.

Looking at his pale hands in the mirror, Gin washed them slowly in the sink with the soap from the box marked ‘facial bar’ and then wiped them dry on a fluffy white towel. He then had an idea that made him smile to himself briefly.

He brought the little towel out of the bathroom with him.

Gin walked over to the bed. He took the empty glass from Aizen’s hand and set it on the bedside table with a small click. Then he leaned over, taking Aizen’s glasses off, and he set them on the little table as well.

He moved over the bed and held the hand towel over Aizen’s clothed crotch. Crouching lower, he gently pressed the towel to Aizen’s dick. Gin moved the towel slowly around in a vague clockwise motion. He pressed harder, keeping the bulk of the towel between Aizen’s dick and his hands.

He could feel Aizen getting harder. His thick cock filling and pressing back against the towel rubbing at him. Aizen cracked an eye open but didn't react. Gin didn’t stop moving.

Aizen draped his hand over Gin’s shoulder and pulled him up and onto the high hotel bed next to him. He slid his warm palm under the undershirt and stroked Gin’s cold bony shoulder blade as Gin’s hands worked his hardon under the towel.

“Psshht. You are going to ruin my boxer shorts.” Aizen sighed.

“Good.”

Gin pressed harder on Aizen’s cock, working down from the head, squeezing down the shaft and pressing with his fingertips cupping under Aizen’s balls.

Gin bent his head down from above Aizen, eye wide open behind the curtain of pale hair, for a kiss.

Aizen tilted his head up just so and their mouths met and Gin licked at the inside of his mouth and teeth.

Breathing in the air that Aizen was exhaling and then breathing it back into his mouth for as long as he could before feeling lightheaded.

Aizen held Gin firmly against his chest as he came up off the bed, into a sitting position. Gin loved the feel of Aizen's shirt against him. Clothed sex maintained some erotic mystery for him. Their pants bunching and riding up as they moved together.

Gin was now working on Aizen’s dick with both hands, towel abandoned.

Aizen was also working on Gin’s open mouth. His large hand cupping Gin’s chin and his tongue working in and around Gin’s teeth.

Aizen was a tall man, his hand easily wrapped around Gin’s face from ear to ear, pressing hard on his jaw with thumb and fingers. Gin loved being held immobile.

As he slowly nosed nearer and nearer to Gin’s ear, licking behind in the tender place as he began to stiffen against Gin, getting closer. Getting closer to coming.

Gin caught a soft whisper against his cheek, a tiny exhale that sounded a little like a word. Gin concentrated on the flick on the finishing stroke and then Gin felt Aizen’s balls begin to pull up and Aizen, never one to really lose control, started to breathe just that little bit harder, his mouth open, eyes closed.

That was exactly when Gin pushed him back on the bed with a firm hand in the solar plexus and stood up.

“Ah. Gin. Fucker.”

Aizen flopped backwards on the bed and closed his eyes again, chin pointing up as he caught his breath, breathing through his nose for a moment.

He lay spread-eagled on the bed and palmed his dick absently through his pants. Then he laid still and opened his eyes to look at Gin standing by the bed. Aizen smiled after a while and the smile reached his eyes this time.

Gin just shrugged at him and turning he grabbed the towel off the bed and tossed it under the desk.

He adjusted his own semi hard dick and took his uncomfortable seat back at the bill counter.

Gin reached for another stack of hundred dollar bills with one hand and a couple of rubber band with the other. Turned away from Aizen, Gin smiled widely as the bill counter shuffled through the stack of bills and spit out a neat bundle of $100,000.


End file.
